Doodle is a Man
So here it is: That awkward post we all knew was coming.... Doodle is a boy.
About midway through summer he gobbled for the first time. But I remained stubbornly in denial, stating that I would not believe Doodle was a boy until he didn't lay an egg. Har har. See how witty I am?
Ahem. Anyway. Then a tragic incident which-not-be-named occurred. Not-to-be-named because it was one of the most stressful events of my life to date. But I shall detail it here, because you're not here to read me vaguely beat around the bush, are you? Sadly, I could not detail the event while it was fresh in my mind, because it was just aaaaahhhhhhh, y'know?
How does this tie in to Doodle being a man? You'll see.
So here's what happened. It was late, I was a suffering insomniac, and the four babies still required constant round-the-clock attention. I decided to make an audiobook of the driver's license manual for my brother, who struggles with dyslexia. About five minutes into my recording, in the dark of the night with all the lights off, I hear behind me "THUMP THUMP THUMP". Well, that recording was ruined. I thought Doodle was dust bathing or something--that's what he does when he's extra cosy. So I comment something to the effect of, "Thanks Doodle, you ruined it."
Silence.
Now, that worried me a little, because Doodle always talks back. "Hey, Doodle, you okay?
Nothing. Then THUMP THUMP THUMP.
Huh. Weird. I turn on the light and OH MY GOODNESS DOODLE HAS HIS HEAD STUCK BETWEEN THE CAGE WALL AND HIS FEEDER!!!!!11 His wings are all sprawled out, and he starts flailing like crazy, and I'm scared he's going to break his neck--so I tear the cage door open and finagle my little friend's head out from behind the secured feeder. Doodle looks up at me, his neck isn't broken, but my heart is pounding and I still sense something's not quite right. He's acting a little woozy, and slowly lays his head in my lap. That's when I see the blood.
Apparently, during his flailing, he managed to snag his soft skin on the feeder or something and ripped himself a lovely 6 by 4 inch gash along the length of his neck. Cue trauma and my mind replaying every horrible "how-to-kill-your-turkey" article I've ever stumbled across. Oh bad oh bad oh no, he's gonna die, he's gonna bleed out and die right here in my arms! I thought in despair, sobbing. Yes, you read that right, I sobbed over my pet turkey. I love this kid, you know?
I know I need help. So I run to fetch my mom, trying to figure out how to keep my voice level enough that she doesn't think the house is on fire, but urgent enough that she knows I really need her help. The things my brain meticulously thinks out when I'm in the midst of a panic, right?
Long story short, mom comes to help, and she's freaking out, and I'm freaking out, and my sister comes to help, and I'm singing Que Sera Sera to keep Doodle calm (and it worked, by the way. He really likes that song - even though it made my mom cry while she's trying to patch Doodle up... something about the sentimentality of that being his lull-a-bye and meaning "What will be will be", in reference to if he died or something...), and we're all praying, and then things just fall into place and my Mom manages to find some thread and a needle to stitch Doodle up proper.
We were all traumatized. Except Doodle. Doodle took it better than anyone. In the weeks that followed, I cleaned his wound and sprayed it with Blu-Kote every day, and it healed right up. Turkeys have amazing healing abilities, I tell ya. It's amazing the amount of damage they can spring back from. They're like super heroes.
But ever after that, Doodle decided to declare loud and proud that yes, HE IS A MAN. He was strutting and showing off his stuff endlessly. He seemed to be of the opinion that bleeding had made him a real man.
"Ah HA," says Doodle, "I conquered that cage. It fought well, a worthy foe. But I lived. Therefore I have won. I am a real man."
...That's great, Doodle. That's great.
About midway through summer he gobbled for the first time. But I remained stubbornly in denial, stating that I would not believe Doodle was a boy until he didn't lay an egg. Har har. See how witty I am?
Ahem. Anyway. Then a tragic incident which-not-be-named occurred. Not-to-be-named because it was one of the most stressful events of my life to date. But I shall detail it here, because you're not here to read me vaguely beat around the bush, are you? Sadly, I could not detail the event while it was fresh in my mind, because it was just aaaaahhhhhhh, y'know?
How does this tie in to Doodle being a man? You'll see.
Silence.
Now, that worried me a little, because Doodle always talks back. "Hey, Doodle, you okay?
Nothing. Then THUMP THUMP THUMP.
Huh. Weird. I turn on the light and OH MY GOODNESS DOODLE HAS HIS HEAD STUCK BETWEEN THE CAGE WALL AND HIS FEEDER!!!!!11 His wings are all sprawled out, and he starts flailing like crazy, and I'm scared he's going to break his neck--so I tear the cage door open and finagle my little friend's head out from behind the secured feeder. Doodle looks up at me, his neck isn't broken, but my heart is pounding and I still sense something's not quite right. He's acting a little woozy, and slowly lays his head in my lap. That's when I see the blood.
Apparently, during his flailing, he managed to snag his soft skin on the feeder or something and ripped himself a lovely 6 by 4 inch gash along the length of his neck. Cue trauma and my mind replaying every horrible "how-to-kill-your-turkey" article I've ever stumbled across. Oh bad oh bad oh no, he's gonna die, he's gonna bleed out and die right here in my arms! I thought in despair, sobbing. Yes, you read that right, I sobbed over my pet turkey. I love this kid, you know?
I know I need help. So I run to fetch my mom, trying to figure out how to keep my voice level enough that she doesn't think the house is on fire, but urgent enough that she knows I really need her help. The things my brain meticulously thinks out when I'm in the midst of a panic, right?
Long story short, mom comes to help, and she's freaking out, and I'm freaking out, and my sister comes to help, and I'm singing Que Sera Sera to keep Doodle calm (and it worked, by the way. He really likes that song - even though it made my mom cry while she's trying to patch Doodle up... something about the sentimentality of that being his lull-a-bye and meaning "What will be will be", in reference to if he died or something...), and we're all praying, and then things just fall into place and my Mom manages to find some thread and a needle to stitch Doodle up proper.
We were all traumatized. Except Doodle. Doodle took it better than anyone. In the weeks that followed, I cleaned his wound and sprayed it with Blu-Kote every day, and it healed right up. Turkeys have amazing healing abilities, I tell ya. It's amazing the amount of damage they can spring back from. They're like super heroes.
 |
| They tear themselves up good. But don't worry. They'll be patched up again in the next scene. |
But ever after that, Doodle decided to declare loud and proud that yes, HE IS A MAN. He was strutting and showing off his stuff endlessly. He seemed to be of the opinion that bleeding had made him a real man.
"Ah HA," says Doodle, "I conquered that cage. It fought well, a worthy foe. But I lived. Therefore I have won. I am a real man."
...That's great, Doodle. That's great.
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